'Huh', he said, poking, 'what's that?'
I unwrapped my arms from around his neck and sighed. Now he wanted to talk?
'I believe you've been acquainted with those before, hon.'
He blushed. 'No, this hard thing.'
B found a lump in my breast the other day.
I had an appointment yesterday at the doctor's office anyway, so off I went, amusing the doctor hugely ('Do you have a minute to feel me up?') by having a small x marked on my breast in ball-point pen. 'Push here.'
He agrees with me - most likely a cyst, and we'll monitor it and see if it changes in size. If it's not gone by my next period, he'll send me for a biopsy.
(My mother and grandmother both have cystic breasts. My mother also gets small fatty lumps. I'm not terribly fussed.)
I told B the news, who somehow heard "He thinks it's a cyst and we'll keep an eye on it" as 'DANGER, Will Robinson! DANGER!' and spent most of last night distracted:
Me: 'Oh, look! There's the car commercial I keep telling you about!'
Him: 'Uh-huh. You know, we still haven't made out our wills."
Me: 'Ugh, the sauce is still lumpy.'
Him: 'Here - I'll whisk it again. Hey....do you want me to feel that thing again? Maybe it's gotten smaller.'
I'm covered by his umbrella policy of things to fret about, and no amount of telling him that I'm not worried will change that.
'Sheesh. Let's not worry about this until we know we've got something to worry about.'
'But that's my job, Jess.'
'Now c'mere and let me feel your bump.'